


I'm Into Fitness

by loracarol



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Canon Relationships, Elena just wants to feed him, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Héctor is a good dad, Héctor is also a tiny child, I'm not going to tag every character in the family, I'm still really bad at titles I'm sorry, but all the living Rivera's are in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-05-04 18:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loracarol/pseuds/loracarol
Summary: There’s a hole in the ceiling and a man falls through.At least, he’s man shaped, once he’s completely through the hole - until then he’s mostly skeleton shaped. He’s man shaped enough that Elena cringes when he crashes onto the ground; luckily he looks mostly winded, and not particularly in pain. She wonders if that’s part of whatever pushed him through the hole as well.





	1. Be Our Guest

**Author's Note:**

> So uhhhh this is a piece of pointless fluff. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. :V

There’s a hole in the ceiling and a man falls through.

 

At least, he’s man shaped, once he’s completely through the hole - until then he’s mostly skeleton shaped. He’s man shaped enough that Elena cringes when he crashes onto the ground; luckily he looks mostly winded, and not particularly in pain. She wonders if that’s part of whatever pushed him through the hole as well.

 

The rest of her family stands behind her in various states of shock, as they take in the sight. It isn’t very often that they have a stranger in their workshop, let alone one that showed up so unusually. There’s a groan from the man as he sits up, and Elena can’t help but take in the way he looks with a critical eye. For one thing, his clothing is _atrocious_. Though there are places where it looks like someone may have tried to patch the clothing once upon a time, the clothing is mostly holes. He’s straight up missing a sleeve, and the other one that’s attached is attached… Barely. His pants are torn to two different lengths and are just as full of holes as everything else is. And he’s so _thin_.

 

Elena can acknowledge that he was a skeleton when he first came through, but whatever made him look like a living human being didn’t really do that great of a job; he still looks like a skeleton, just one with skin tight stretched over it. He has scars, long nasty marks that look like they had to have hurt, and _dios mío_ she could count his individual _ribs_ , not at all helped by the fact that his jacket is so worn that it no longer even buttons in the front, despite how skinny the man looks. And to top it all off he looks… Well, there isn’t really a better term for it, _grimy_. From the top of his head to the bottom of his bare feet - an offence to the depths of her sole. She wants to shove him in the shower then feed him, which truth be told is the same way she feels about most young people.

 

Ay, he looks so _young_ , it’s practically painful to look at him.

 

…And there’s something familiar about his face, but she locks it away, and refuses to acknowledge it.

 

The man is staring at everything and everyone in shock, standing up shakily, using the wall to do so. “Oh, Imelda is going to _kill_ me,” he whispers, and Elena ignores that too.   

 

“Who are you, and why are you here?” Elena asks instead, arms crossed.

 

“....You can see me?” The man says, confusion coloring his tone as he leans against the wall as though he wished he could go through it. “This shouldn’t be _possible_.”

 

“Why not?” Elena adds, tapping her foot.

 

“Eh, well, the living aren’t _supposed_ to see the dead. Usually.” The man says, eyes jumping between them all as he realizes that he is very, _very_ visible.

 

“You don’t look very dead to _me_.” Gloria cuts in. Elena looked over to see her daughter in very much the same pose as herself, with the addition of one raised eyebrow. _Like mother, like daughter_. She thinks, wryly.

 

“... _What_?” That gets the man’s attention, and he looks down. “Dios Mío,” he breathes as he looks at his hands, looks down as his body. Then he’s clutching at his chest and collapsing to the ground as he began to hyperventilate.

 

There’s a moment of silence as everyone looks at each other and tries to figure out what to do. It’s during that silence that Miguel, Rosa, and Abel barge into the shop, chatting happily. They’d been at mariachi plaza, something only recently allowed, so it takes them a moment to realize that they didn’t just walk into the workshop on a normal day. Elena mutters under her breath as she tried to figure out how to explain the situation.

 

She needn’t have bothered.

 

“Papá Héctor?” Miguel says, hope lining his voice. Before anyone can ask him how he knows the man, Miguel is running towards him, ducking underneath Elena’s outstretched arm. The man - _Héctor_ \- looks up at that, still clutching at his chest, and the reality that Elena had been blocking out suddenly becomes _impossible_ to ignore.

 

“ _M_ \- _mijo_?” It’s obvious that he’s taken by surprise, but he stops clutching his chest, and instead grabs the wall, standing up, shaky, but standing.  

 

“Papá Héctor!” Miguel says again, joy infusing every syllable, “You're all right! Mamá Coco remembered in time!”  

 

“Come here.” Héctor says, his breathing evening out, and his arms wide, and Miguel crashes into him with wild abandon.

 

And Elena is left with even _more_ questions.

 

She’s not the only one as the silence that they had been immersed in is immediately broken by different voices bubbling up with questions.

 

After all, they all saw him as a skeleton. They all heard him refer to himself as dead - _how on earth_ did Miguel know him?

 

As the voices grew, Elena knew that they needed to get answers, but first things first.

 

“ _Quiet_ ,” She snapped over the din, and the volume died down. “Mijo, do you think any of your clothes will fit him?” At Enrique’s “no,” Elena pressed on - she’d had that suspicion; the man looked taller then Enrique, and skinnier to boot. “Berto, Abel, go find him clothing that will fit. Pick some up from the store if you must, but make sure it’s _clean_ and will fit him properly. Shoes too.” If Berto was planning on saying anything, the glare she sent his way surly silenced it.

 

“Ah - Señora - that isn’t really nec-” the _musico_ starts, but Elena interrupts him.

 

“Hush,” she says, and his mouth snaps shut. “Do you know what happened to you? Do you know how long you’re going to be here?”

 

He blinks at her, before his face falls, and he slumps over. “No, no to either of those, lo siento.”

 

“Then, as long as you’re staying in my house,” he made a move to interrupt, but Elena talked over him, “and you _will_ be staying in this house, you need to wear clothing that is _suitable_ and not a _disgrace_.”

 

“Ay, sí señora.” He said, picking at one sleeve with embarrassment.

 

“Gloria, Rosa, I want you to go to the _biblioteca_ and get as many books as you can find that you think might be relevant. Be back by two for lunch. Mija, please explain it to them on the way what happened.”

 

“What about the shop?” Gloria asked.

 

“We’re closing the shop down early today and taking a half day to figure this out.”

 

Gloria nodded, as those three filed out.

 

“You,” She pointed at the man, “You are going to get in the shower and you are going to scrub yourself until the water runs clear, do you understand me? Miguel will show you to bathroom, Miguel, have him use the guest supplies.”

 

“Sí, Abuelita,” Miguel said, grinning nervously, both him and the man standing in the same one-arm-holding-the-other position that Miguel tended to adopt when he was nervous.

 

“Enrique, we’ll need to get one of our guest rooms prepped for a visitor. I don’t care which one, but put down clean sheets. The rest of you, let’s start lunch. And after lunch, Miguel, you and _him_ are going to tell us, in detail, exactly how you came to know each other. _Lo entiendes_?”

 

She heard overlapping comments of “Sí, Abuelita,” and “Sí, Señora.”

 

“ _Good_. Vámonos!” As everyone dispersed, Elena felt herself sag, just a bit. She had no idea how best to handle the situation, so she had defaulted to preparing for a guest. If he was who she thought he was - who everyone _knew_ he was, maybe he didn’t deserve it. But before her mamá had passed, she had promised her that she would keep this man’s photo on the ofrenda, and that she would let his stories be passed on, and as angry as she was at the man, she wouldn’t refuse this. Not while her mamá was _dying_ , not when his stories, his music, brought her mamá back to her.

 

And in her heart of hearts she had to acknowledge, there was something _fishy_ about how swiftly his letters stopped, when she had read them, and how his letters all had lyrics to songs later made famous by that _other_ musician.

 

But she had no time to think on that; they had lunch to prepare. Originally, she had planned lunch to be a simple affair, nothing fancy, but now they had a _guest_.

 

“We’re pulling the tamales out of the freezer,” she declared. She always made extra, she had learned that from her Mamá Imelda; you never knew when having extra food would come in handy. They would take some time to steam, but if they all worked together, they could have a decent meal on the table shortly, and she could get that damned musico to actually eat something, _dios mío_.

 


	2. For the First Time In Forever

Gloria and Rosa returned home with as many books as possible, and Elena directed them put them in the sitting room. They’d go through them later as a family; for now she wanted their help getting the table set. Berto and Abel had returned earlier with clothing, and were cleaning up the shop for the afternoon; in all the confusion, they’d forgotten to tidy up the workshop for the day. Mamá Imelda would have _never_ stood for that, and so neither did Elena.

 

As more and more family members gathered in the dining room, Elena put them to work; setting the table was already taken care of, but there was still sauces to stir, food to bring out, salads to mix… They had a guest, after all, and there were _standards_.

 

Elena was pulling tamales out of the steamer when she heard a polite, “Is there anything I can do to help, Señora?”, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

 

“Don’t _do_ that!” She snarled, turning to look at their guest.

 

“Ah, sorry!” He said, arms raised placatingly.

 

“Just go… Sit down somewhere, and don’t move until I call you in.” Elena said, trying not to look as aghast as she felt. She had noticed he looked young earlier, but now, cleaned up and in clothing that wasn't ratty and worn, he looked like a _baby_.

 

Not literally, naturally, but he looked barely older than Abel. Speaking of which, the clothing they’d gotten had Abel written all over it. She frowned, when she’d sent Berto, she’d expected him to get _nice_ clothes, and while dark jeans that he was wearing were at least not worn, the shirt he was wearing was _ridiculous_. “[Fit’ness taco in my mouth](https://d3d71ba2asa5oz.cloudfront.net/52000866/images/fitnesstaco-mens-darkhg.jpg)”? Really? Though she did have to admit, she appreciated the sentiment. And couldn’t they have gotten jeans that fit? While they were clean, the bottoms were skimming the tops of his ankles.

 

Or maybe that was necessary with his skin-and-bone physique, combined with his height.

 

It still looked silly.

 

At least the shoes weren’t a total disgrace. While they were a disgusting shade of eye-popping yellow, they were just sandals, and not, say, _crocs_.    

 

“Berto,” she called out to the crowd after Miguel had lead Héctor out of the way. She didn’t have to say anything when he showed up, she just glared.

 

“I picked out a button down,” Berto explained, “and some sneakers. But Abel.” He rolled his eyes, “Abel thought it was funny, and I guess he did too.”

 

Elena rolled her eyes. Children. All of them.

 

But at least he looked _clean_. She noted that her other grandchildren had also migrated to the man, and he was listening intently to whatever nonsense the twins had to say. She resisted the urge to pull out la chancla and demand that the musician get away from her family. It wasn’t that simple anymore.

 

Soon enough, lunch was ready, and she called everyone into the dining room to partake. She wasn’t surprised to see Miguel insisting that Héctor sit next to him, but she was a little surprised to see Rosa following suit, and even Abel was trailing behind them, trying to pretend he wasn’t too cool for that. There was a moment’s confusion as Héctor tried to push in the chair for Rosa, before Miguel led him to the next chair and told him to sit.    

 

Elena watched the man like a hawk, and was frustrated to see how little food he took. Honestly. “You’re a twig,” she said huffed, “have some more,” and she began to dish out more tamales.

 

“Ah, no gracias, Señora,” he said, hand up in a placating gesture.

 

“I asked if you wanted more _tamales_.” She retorted, ignoring the sense of déjà vu.

 

“I would just take them,” Miguel whispered, though it carried. “She’s a really good cook!”

 

“...Sí?” Héctor said, staring as Elena kept piling tamales onto his plate.

 

“Honestly, when was the last time you even ate?” She muttered rhetorically.

 

She was surprised, then when Héctor responded seriously; “Er… 1921, I think?”

 

Elena stared at him, and he stared back, guileless. “...Just eat your tamales,” she eventually responded, before adding a similar pile to Miguel’s plate. “Miguel's a twig,” she grumbled, “so is Enrique. I’m sure this is all _your_ fault somehow.”

 

“Sor-”

 

“Just eat.”


	3. Know Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't just ask people when they died!

Lunch was silent for a time, before Rosa decided to ask a question. The question, really, the one everyone wanted to know the answer to, but no one wanted to actually come right out and _ask_.

 

“So, you’re our Papá Héctor, sí?”

 

“...Sí?”

 

“Which makes you Mamá Coco’s papá, sí?”

 

“Sí?”

 

“So why do you look so young?”

 

Héctor stared at Rosa, while Tío Berto choked on his drink, and Tía Carmen began to apologize profusely.   

 

“No, no, it’s alright!” Héctor said, putting his fork down. “I just wasn’t expecting that.” He paused, then said simply, “This was how I looked when I died.”

 

“Wait, then how old were you?” Abel tossed out, and Tío Berto just let out a low groan.

 

There was a long pause, as Héctor thought, then he began to mumble. “Er, well, Coco had just turned four before I died, and she was born in 1917? Uh, and I think was 17 that year, so 17 and four is... So maybe 20 or 21?" He stopped, eyes focusing on the past, "I can’t remember if I’d had my birthday yet.”

 

It was Abel’s turn to choke on his drink, and he wasn’t the only one who responded with shock, the silence growing awkward as people put down their food, and look at him with pity.

 

Héctor shrugged, huddling into himself. “I died young,” he muttered, “it happens.”

 

“No.” Elena said, arms crossed. “Victoria dying at _forty_ was dying young, you died as a _child_! And for what? So you could play music?” Elena froze, she hadn’t meant for that part to slip out, honest she hadn’t, but she’d spent so long hating this man that she’d forgotten herself.

 

Héctor just shrugged. “Something like that.” He wasn’t looking at her, he wasn’t looking at anyone; the tamales were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

 

The whole meal had an aura discomfort, not helped by the short answers Héctor was doling out. As the different members of the family tried to find a way to break the tension, Elena watched Miguel elbow Héctor, and give him a glare. Though, on Miguel, it came across more like a pout. Héctor raised on eyebrow, and Miguel’s frown deepened. Finally, he broke the silence with a sigh before rolling his eyes, and saying, “‘By something like that’ he means that Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him and stole his songs.”

 

And if that didn’t just put the cat among the pigeons.

 

“Murdered?” Gloria said, putting her glass down with a _thud_.

 

Hers wasn’t the only comment as everyone felt the need to put their two pesos in, and even Elena couldn’t help the small “Madre de Dios,” that she found herself muttering.

 

“I suppose so,” Héctor said, looking up to meet their eyes. “I only found out at Día de Muertos, and even then it was Miguel that put the pieces together.” He ruffled Miguel’s hair, and Miguel flushed with embarrassment.

 

“Now I _really_ need to know what happened,” Enrique said, eyeing both Miguel and Héctor.

 

“Now _we_ really need to know,” Luisa corrected.

 

“It’s kind of a long story?” Miguel said, looking down at his plate.

 

“Then we had better get finished eating quickly so you can tell it to us.” Elena ordered. There was a moment’s pause, then everyone went back to their plates, though with a lot more eyeing of Héctor and Miguel then before, and while Elena wasn’t particularly fond of this man, she was glad to see that Héctor was eating. He had been murdered? Was that why his letters stopped? She shook herself. She would also need to finish eating before she could get her answers. And she _would_ get her answers. She saw Luisa react to a noise on the baby monitor, and made a mental note to save a plate for Luisa, to eat after caring for the baby. Briefly she wondered how the man would react to a child named after his daughter.

 

They’d all find out after lunch.


	4. What's This?

After lunch were the dishes, and Elena found herself shooing Héctor away once more, asking Miguel to show the man to their sala. She was just working with the others to get the dishes started when she found Franco and Gloria shooing her away as well.

 

“You’ve had a shock, mi amor,” her husband was saying, reaching up to rub her shoulders, “we’ll take care of things in here, and meet you after to hear Miguelito’s story.”

 

“It’s fine,” she said, though she leaned into his touch nonetheless.

 

“Go on,” Franco said, kissing the back of her neck. “Go spend time with your grandchildren.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Elena said; turning around to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make sure they hold off until you join us.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that, querida,” Franco responded, before jokingly pushing her out the door.

 

“Let me grab Luisa’s lunch first!” Elena responded with a small laugh. Grabbing the plate and some utensils, she went out to join the others in the sala.  

 

Her timing could have been better; there were her grandchildren, naturally, and _him_ , and that was it. She put the food down on an end table, and sat herself down in one of the recliners, watching like a hawk as Héctor sat in the middle of one of the couches, kids clustered around him. She had caught them mid-conversation, Héctor in the middle of a sentence that he let trail off at her entrance.

 

“Go on, you were saying something?” She said.

 

“Oh, I was just saying thank you to Abel for picking out the shirt?” Héctor said, flustered. “I thought it was funny. Are these kinds of shirts common? With the writing?”

 

“Oh yeah!” Abel said with a grin. “They’re super popular!”

 

He might have gone further if Luisa hadn’t entered the room, carrying Coco, and looking for a place to sit. Miguel stood up, and went to meet his mom, “Mamá, may I hold Coco? Please?”

 

“Of course, Miguel, but what do we make sure to do?”  

 

“Always support the head!” At that, Luisa gave a tired grin, and handed the baby over to Miguel who held her like she was the most precious things in the world. “Papá Héctor!” Miguel said, walking slowly over to the couch where he’d previously been, “Meet baby Coco! We named her after Mamá Coco, isn’t she the best?”

 

Héctor stared at the baby, eyes wide. “Her name is Coco?” He choked out, reaching out one hand towards the baby, before pulling it back.

 

“Sí! Do you want to hold her?”

 

Héctor’s eyes darted between Miguel and Luisa, and he asked almost in whisper, “May I?”

 

Miguel turned to look at his mother, and asked “Please, mamá?”

 

“Do you even know how to hold a baby?” Elena found herself asking; not angrily, but genuinely curious.

 

“I used to help out with Coco whenever Imelda needed a break,” Héctor said, the grin on his face and the distance in his eyes making it clear he was remembering the past.

 

Luisa studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t mind if you hold her, but I want you to stay seated while you do. We don’t know how you ended up here, and if something happens, I don’t want her falling.”

 

Héctor froze, and he turned to look at her. “Do you think it’s a good idea?” He was frowning, hands in his lap, and he was worrying the fabric of his pants.

 

“It’ll be okay!” Miguel said, holding Coco out to Héctor. “She should meet her great-great-grandpa!”

 

Héctor didn’t take her, not until he received a nod from Luisa. At her assent, he reached out and took Coco, settling her gently on his chest. “She’s so small,” he whispered, reaching up with one hand to secure her. “I had almost forgotten how small they are.”

 

Something soft began to unfurl in Elena’s chest as she watched Héctor with the baby. Nothing too grand; she had hated him all her life, but something small, something that was a _start_.

 

The others began to trickle in, dispersing themselves around the room to hear Miguel’s story. When everyone was finally there, Miguel cleared his throat, and began.

 

“It was during Día de Muertos, after Abuelita smashed my guitar. I wanted to play in the talent show so bad-! But no one could lend me one, so I may have overreacted just a _tiny_ bit, broken into de la Cruz’s mausoleum, and tried to borrow his guitar, since I thought he was my great-great-grandfather, and he wouldn’t mind. I was wrong about that, even though I wasn’t wrong about it being my great-great-grandfather’s guitar.

  
“So, anyway, I got a little bit cursed, and that was just the _beginning_ of my night...”  


	5. Two Worlds, One Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to try and write more, but the brain worky meds didn't make my brain work as well this weekend as I was hoping. |D ADHD is kind of annoying sometimes... >>;; 
> 
> But I hope you still enjoy! :D

Elena had expected something from Héctor, anything, but he seemed content to let Miguel ramble on about curses, and marigold bridges, and meeting their family. She couldn’t help her involuntary start when Miguel mentioned her sister, and she made a mental note to ask Miguel, and maybe Héctor, about her later. She wasn’t happy that her mother had died, of course not! But her mother had died old, having lived a long and happy life; Victoria had died young, and the pain of losing her still hurt.

 

“Er, when Mamá Imelda found out I liked to play music, she decided that she’d send me back, but only on the condition that I never played again.” Miguel was saying, “I took the blessing, but then I broke my promise right after, and tried to play again. I know I shouldn’t have, but…” Miguel stopped, curling into himself in a guilty fashion, “But I didn’t think it was fair! And she said I had to go home her way or not at all, so I thought maybe I could find my great-great-grandpa, when I thought he was de la Cruz?” He paused, then added in a rush, “I’m not sorry I ended up cursed again, because I wouldn’t have found out about Papá Héctor, or the truth about de la Cruz, but I know I shouldn’t have done that.” He tensed, like he was waiting for someone to get mad at him, but even Elena found herself stuck on one particular note.

 

“Did she actually say ‘her way or not at all’?” She demanded, leaning forward in her chair. That sounded very much like her abuelita, but under the circumstances Miguel had outlined… She was shocked. She had known that Mamá Imelda hated music, hated musicians; a hatred that Elena had internalized, but to threaten her own kin like that!

 

Would she have done that, if the positions were reversed?

 

Could she have? Could she have looked at a child, her _family_ , cursed to _die_ by the sounds of it, and demanded _conditions_ in exchange for his life?  

 

Miguel looked up, briefly; he’d brought his knees up to his chest, and while Elena would normally insist he took his feet off the furniture, she brushed that thought aside. Miguel uncurled; “Sí, but only at first! I think she was just upset, but she did send me home with no conditions, and she smacked de la Cruz with her boot _so hard_ that his skull spun around, so she’s really not that bad!”

 

Elena sat back with a huff. Maybe Miguel was right, but that didn’t mean Elena wouldn’t be having _words_ with Imelda when they finally met in the afterlife, and from the look in Enrique and Luisa’s faces, they felt the same.

 

Miguel rushed on, touching on the fact that he ran into Héctor without knowing how they were related to many expressions of shock. “I may have lied to him a little bit,” he said, shooting Héctor an apologetic look, “I told him that the only family I had was… _Ugh_ … de la Cruz.”

 

“I’ve seen you lie, Miguel,” Rosa interjected, looking at them both with a smirk. “Why on earth did you believe him?”

 

Héctor started, as if realizing suddenly that yes, he was also in the room. “Ah, that is a very good question. A _very_ good question.” Elena watched as he rubbed one hand down his pants as though he drying off sweat. Berto did the same thing, and she wondered briefly if it was a family trait, or just a coincidence. “I knew that Miguel was lying -”

 

“- No manches!” Miguel interrupted, but Héctor continued.

 

“-But considering what I know - what I _knew_ about de la Cruz, I thought maybe Miguel just didn’t know _who_ his family was, besides him. That is.” He paused, and the faintest of red touched his cheeks, “I thought perhaps Ernesto’s child wasn’t perhaps… Er. Maybe Miguel wouldn’t have known anyone else’s name, just rumors about de la Cruz being his great-great-grandfather? As far as I knew, the only thing he was actually devoted to were chihuahuas, and unless some things have changed a _lot_ since I died, I’m pretty sure Miguel isn’t a descendant of any of _them_.”

 

He said it with such a sincere tone and a cheeky smile that even Elena couldn’t help but snort. But at least it made sense why this man had let Miguel off after such an obvious lie - and it _had_ to be obvious; who else would believe that a child ending up cursed would only have _one_ family member in all of the land of the dead!

 

After it quieted down, Miguel continued, touching only briefly on meeting Frida Kahlo, much to everyone’s frustration.

 

“She was nice, but I don’t think I understood her completely.” Miguel said, before continuing.

 

“Of course,” Carmen muttered to herself, “That’s her genius.”  

 

Miguel continued on, explaining how Ernesto didn't "do" rehearsals, and about the song contest, frowning as he stopped to ask; “Papá Héctor, did the musicians ever apologize to you about _Chorizo_?” He clarified for the others, “They called him that because he thought he died from food poisoning, and they thought it was funny to joke that he died from choking on chorizo.” He paused, frowning, “I don’t see why it was so funny."

 

Elena, who knew exactly why it was supposedly so funny, just sat in her chair, thanking the saints that Miguel was a very innocent twelve year old.

 

“Eh, I haven’t really gone out of my way to talk to them,” Héctor said, with a shrug.

 

“Well they _should_ apologize.” Miguel muttered, arms crossed, before he leaned forward from his spot on the couch, and continued with the story. Elena found herself glaring at Héctor when Miguel mentioned how Héctor had thrown himself off the bridge - what sort of example was that! - but she couldn’t help but soften a little in sorrow as Miguel began to describe Héctor’s living conditions. Even though Miguel was cheerful, and he was trying to paint everything in the best light, it sounded… _Sad_.

 

It was made even worse as Miguel began to curl in on himself once more as he told them about the man once named Chicharrón, and his final fate.

 

A silence fell over the room, as they took it all in.

 

It was Elena who realized it first, as her jaw dropped, and she couldn’t help the pity lining her voice. “Mamá was forgetting you.” She stated, staring at Héctor. Héctor flinched, but nodded.

 

“But we fixed it! Mamá Coco remembered him in time, so he’s still here!” Miguel pointed in, bounding one leg up and down.

 

“Yes but-” Elena started, but she was interrupted.

 

“But nothing,” Héctor said in a surprisingly firm voice, “Everything worked out, there’s no need to dwell on what might have beens.” Then he grinned, and looked like he was about to say something else, when Coco instead decided to slam her head into his chin. “I had forgotten this part too,” he said, still smiling, but rubbing the place she’d hit with a mild wince.  

 

“It did all work out,” Miguel said, “And I even got to hear a real musician -” he gestured at Héctor, “-play a song all the way through! In person!”

 

“You’re a real musician too,” Héctor started, and Miguel lifted one hand in a shaky “more or less” gesture.

 

“I need to practice more,” he said firmly, “And I want to learn how to write my own songs, like you did! By the way, did you write _Everyone Knows Juanita_? It wasn’t in your letters, but I wasn’t sure, and when I tried looking it up, most people say that the history is “unknown”, whatever _that_ means.”

 

Héctor snorted, “That song was around long before I was.”

 

“ _Everyone Knows Juanita_?” Gloria asked, politely.

 

“It was the song Papá Héctor sang for Chicharrón.” Miguel began to bounce up and down in his seat, “Papá Héctor, if I bring you out my guitar, would you play it for us? _Please_?”

 

Elena watched as Héctor sighed. She knew the exact look Miguel was giving him, and it was a look she’d had practice deflecting. This man didn’t stand a chance.

 

“I’ll play something if someone can take the _princesa_.” Miguel let out a loud noise, and ran from the room, as Héctor passed the baby off to Abel. Miguel came back with a skid as he held out his guitar to Héctor. It wasn’t a very fancy guitar; nothing like the guitar he’d played for Mamá Coco - that was in a state of limbo as the Rivera's pushed for the guitar to be returned to the family, and de la Cruz’s estate tried to block them, but it was a decent guitar. Elena had bought it herself, as a form of penance; as an apology. She watched as Héctor took it in his arms, as gently as he had Coco, and began to test out the notes. “You’ve done a good job keeping it in tune.” He said, sending Miguel a smile, then he stopped, slumping over the guitar, and asking plaintively, “But does it have to be _Everyone Knows Juanita_?”

 

“Please?” Miguel said, and Elena raised an eyebrow. What could possibly be so bad about that song… And why had he played it in front of her grandson, if that was the case?”

 

Héctor sighed again. “You have the same eyes as Coco,” he grumbled, before putting his hands on the strings, and beginning to play. Elena had to admit, it was mesmerizing, watching his hands move. There was a grace to his movements, and a surety, that Elena could swear she’d seen in her family, in herself, when they were making shoes.

 

They weren’t the same movements, but the gracefulness, the way he hit each string with intention, echoes of that lived in every one of his descendants.

 

But the _words_.

 

Elena didn’t sing, didn’t “do” music, but she knew poetry, and she knew the beginnings of a flirty - dirty? - poem when she heard one. She had, after all, given birth to three children.

 

She was gratified to see a faint red flush in the man’s cheeks. Good. He deserved to be embarrassed, if her hunch was correct.

 

“- _and her… Knuckles they drag on the floor_ ,” he sang, and Elena sat back. She had a suspicion she knew what was supposed to be there instead, and looking around at the other adults, she knew they had also picked up on it.

 

“Those aren’t the words!” Miguel shouted gleefully, and Héctor only stumbled for a moment before he grinned back at Miguel and added;

 

“There are children present!” Before he continued. Elena had to snort at that. It had been obvious before, but now it was really obvious that Héctor was a man who’d been around children. Or at least, a child.

 

When the song was over, Carmen applauded politely, and the other’s joined in; even Elena found herself impressed. It wasn’t the big, showy music of the Mariachis in the Plaza; she might even find it…Tolerable.

 

“Papá Héctor, do you want to do _Un Poco Loco_ with me?” Miguel said, staring at Héctor with undisguised delight.

 

“Only if you take center stage,” he said, ruffling Miguel’s hair, and handing him the guitar. Miguel nodded, and began to continue with his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a dick joke. Chorizo is a dick joke. ~~I only found this out recently myself lol~~
> 
> Thankfully Miguel is too young to understand it. |D


	6. You've Got a Friend in Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. :) Personal stuff is still being a butt, but things are starting to look up now. ^_^

Miguel paraphrased the journey back to the _Plaza de la Cruz_ , eager to get to _Un Poco Loco_.

 

“Mijo, _breathe_ ,” Héctor said with a wry grin, as words tumbled out of Miguel like a torrent. Miguel stopped to take a deep breath, before muttering something about “earning” his blessing, much to Elena’s annoyance. A family blessing should come without conditions, without needing to be _earned_.

 

At least Miguel seemed to realize he had been silly, if the way he was tapping on the guitar was any indication.

 

“ _Remember Me_ , that was the song you sang for Mamá Coco,” Berto said, leaning forward.

 

Miguel shrugged. “Sort of. I sung her _her_ version.” The adults looked at each other, then shrugged. Answers would be coming. Miguel stood up, looking over the room with a critical eye, before kicking his cousin’s off of the couch, and doing his best to move it backwards. Soon, some of the other chairs followed, Héctor, Rosa, and Gloria helping to move everything out of the way until a space was cleared out. “Are you ready Papá Héctor?” Miguel called out, and the man stepped forward, only to pause, raising up one hand to stare at it.

 

“Aye, chamaco, we might have a problem.” He said, embarrassed grin on his face. Elene knew it was an embarrassed grin because it was the same look she’d seen on the others in her family, when something wasn’t quite right. Before she could ask why, he raised his hand up to Miguel, and wiggled his fingers. “I’m all… _Fleshy_.”

 

The rest of the family stared at the tableau blankly at that statement, but Miguel seemed to understand. He pouted briefly, before shrugging; “We can still sing together,” he said, pout switching to a grin, “You’ll just have to be careful.”

 

Héctor put his hand down, mirroring Miguel’s grin with one of his own. “When am I _not_ careful? No, no, don’t answer that. You mind if I?” He made motions like he was lifting something up. At Miguel’s nod of assent, he tried to pick Miguel up in a lift. “Why are you so _heavy_?” He muttered, “Alright, lifts are out. I’m ready when you are, mijo.”

 

Miguel shrugged, he hadn’t actually been paying too close attention to how far along the curse had been at that point, but he could handle no lifts. The most important thing was to have another chance to perform with his Papá Héctor. He looked over at Héctor, and at his nod of assent, he let out a loud grito, and began to play.

 

Elena watched the two sing, and had to admit - while she didn’t play guitar, the movements that Miguel was making looked complicated. Add to that singing, dancing, and the knowledge that he had picked all if it up from secretly watching _de la Cruz_ tapes in their attic…. She was _very_ impressed.

 

More than that, she was _proud_. Miguel looked like he was in his element, like this was what he had been born to do.

 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

 

And to watch Miguel and Héctor bob and weave around each other with such energy! She noted that there were a couple times where it looked like Héctor was about to stumble, but he always managed to turn it around into something else. If he hadn’t said his worries out loud, she wouldn’t have thought that there was an issue.

 

All too soon the song was over, and Miguel and Héctor were both flushed from performing. Elena even surprised herself when she was the first one to start applauding.

 

“Thank you!” Miguel was saying with a grin, “That was Mamá Imelda’s song!”

 

“You must have won,” Rosa said, leaning forward in her chair, “You have to have been better than the nuns!” 

 

Both Miguel and Héctor cringed at that, Miguel saying, “A-Actually, about that…” As they both sat back down.

 

As Miguel explained the fight he’d had with Héctor, Elena watched as Héctor put his head in his hands, and began to sink into his seat. There was a beat, then he steadied himself, and turned to face Miguel; “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

Whatever Miguel had been expecting, that wasn’t it, and he blinked owlishly at Héctor.

 

“I had my own reasons for saying that, but I still shouldn’t have?”

 

Miguel was still staring at him, and Elena could almost see the wheels in his head shudder to a stop. 

 

“...Miguel?”

 

Elena watched as Miguel carefully put the guitar down, before launching himself into Héctor. “ _Thank you_ ,” He said, before sitting back down, “anyway…”

  
“What was that abou-” Berto started, but Miguel turned red, and said;

 

“-ANYWAY, I ran into Mamá Imelda...”

 

Elena was gratified to see that Héctor, at least, was just as confused as the rest of them, though, when Miguel dropped the bombshell that Imelda had _sung_ …

 

\---

 

“You sang in front of _everyone_?” Héctor said, beaming. “That’s my boy!”

 

“Yeah, well,” Miguel said, dropping his head into his hands, “then Ifellintothepool.”

 

“Qué?”

 

“You did _what_?” Abel said, stifling a laugh.

 

“Ugh, he had a pool shaped like a _guitar_ , how ridiculous is that? And I… Fell right into it. _De la Cruz_ had to rescue me.” If anyone had planned on laughing at Miguel, the venom in his voice as he mentioned de la Cruz put halt to that. “I… I told him I was his great-great-grandson, because I thought I _was_ , and he,” Miguel swiped at his face, and Elena realized that her grandson was tearing up. “He was really excited, and he kept introducing me to everyone at his party,” his shoulders dropped, “He was acting really nice.”

 

“He was my best man.” Héctor said, scooting over, and putting one arm around Miguel. “It’s _okay._ ”

 

Miguel hiccupped, and then, to Elena’s shock, he was actually crying.

 

“Hey, hey chamaco, _hey_ , it’s okay, it’s _okay_ ,” Héctor said, sliding off the couch, and turning around so he was kneeling and facing Miguel. Elena watched as Miguel buried his face into Héctor’s chest - as Héctor pulled Miguel into an embrace. She couldn’t hear what Héctor was murmuring, but it didn’t matter. She made eye contact with her family members, and nodded her head towards the kitchen. Most of them got the hint, and anyone that didn’t figured it out quickly as people began to leave the room as quietly as possible.

 

“Snacks,” Elena said, as people began to loiter. “Pan dulce, fruit, aguas frescas.”

 

“I’m going to go lay Coco down,” Luisa said, taking her child back from Abel.

 

“I think the twins could use a nap now as well,” Carmen said, looking over at Berto. Berto nodded, and picked up one while Carmen picked up the other.

 

“The rest of you-” Elena started.

 

“-We’ll get some snacks started,” Enrique said, kissing Elena’s cheek, “you and Papá go sit down.”

 

“If you insist.” Elena muttered, but she was glad of it. She had a lot to think about. Not the least of which was the way Miguel trusted Héctor. What else had happened over the last Día de Muerto? As friendly as Héctor seemed, there had to be something else, didn’t there? They had found out the Héctor had been murdered, so there had to be something towards that end, but nothing so far explained _why_ Miguel trusted Héctor so much, or why he found it easy to turn to the man for comfort.

 

But if that comfort was what was needed to help her grandson work through whatever he was feeling, she could wait for answers.

 

Though she _would_ be getting some answers. 


	7. He's a Tramp

The family waited in the kitchen until Miguel and Héctor felt up to joining them, sipping aqua fresca and chatting in quiet tones. All of them refused to touch on the subject of what was going on - instead they focused on other things; the way that Coco’s smile was already similar to her namesakes’, How Abel and Rosa were doing in school, what their menu would look like for the next week… Trivialities, really, but it seemed that no one was quite ready to go beyond trivialities just yet.

 

Miguel and Héctor eventually joined them; they hadn’t been exactly secretive in where they were going; after all, they just wanted to give them some space, not disappear completely.

 

“Conchitas!” Miguel said, scrubbing at his face to make sure there were no tears. Héctor followed, and Elena definitely didn’t notice how his eyes were a bit watery as he stopped at the edges of the kitchen.

 

“Would you like one, Héctor?” She said, sounding the name out slowly.

 

“Oh, me?” He asked, startling, as though he hadn’t expected to be included.

 

Elena made a show of exaggeratedly looking about, “Is there another Héctor I should know about? Have some pan dulce.” She refused to hand it to him; if he wanted some, he’d have to go to her, and meet her in the kitchen with everyone.

 

If he was planning on refusing, one look around the room, and he thought better of it. “Thank you Señora,” he said, joining them. He stopped when he got to the spread on the table, and his jaw dropped. More metaphorically than usual, if Miguel’s story was to be believed. “That's a lot,” he said, in a voice quiet enough that Elena suspected no one was supposed to hear it.

 

And there was; they had a large family, after all, and they’d all been busy while waiting for Miguel and Héctor to be done. It was only natural that they’d end up accidentally prepping too many options. Natural, and not at all a result of Elena not paying as much attention as she should have.

 

The silence stretched as he stared at all the options, hesitantly reaching out for one before pulling his hand back, and debating about another. “Lo siento,” he muttered, “it has been so long since I saw this…  _Much_.”

 

Elena swallowed down her first thought. After all, all the offerings they left on the Rivera Ofrenda - none of it had ever been for him. She was floundering for something to say when Carmen came to her rescue.

 

“Señor Rivera-”

 

“Héctor,” he interrupted, “‘Rivera’ was - is - Imelda’s name.” Elena made a mental note to ask about that later, and stayed silent as Carmen began asking him about which foods had been available while he was still alive. He tried to protest as Carmen began piling a plate up with different fruits, pan dulces, and jams for those; but as his attempts at refusal had more to do with what he thought was best for the family, and not out of personal dislike, Carmen continued with the same gentle tone she used on her children.

 

“We have _enough_ ,” she said, “lo prometo.”

 

He looked her in the eyes, and when she nodded, he smiled, face flushing some. “Lo siento,” he said again, before taking the plate she’d prepared. “This might be too much,” he said, “but it all looks delicious, thank you!”

 

“You’re welcome,” Elena said, as Miguel leaned up against Héctor, and they started chatting about the different pan dulces they had put out. She caught the tail end of a promise to split the different breads, so that Héctor could try _all_ of them, and she shrugged. At least the two were eating.

 

And there was something else…

 

It took her a moment, and when she realized, she couldn’t help but comment, “What happened to your arm?”

 

Héctor handed the food off to Miguel, before looking at his arms in confusion and saying, “perdón?”

 

“Right arm, near the elbow,” Elena said, standing up to get a closer view. It was a scar, long and jagged as though something had torn through the skin. Whatever had happened _had_ to hurt, but he was staring at it as though seeing it for the first time.

 

“One moment,” he said, before kneeling down, and rolling up his left pant leg. There was another scar there, cutting across in a similar fashion. “Huh,” he said, “I should have realized…”

 

“Realized what?”

 

Héctor blinked up, then shot up as though he had just remembered there were other people there. “Lo si-” he started, then stopped at Elena’s glare. “These scars, I have - had - broken bones, but I supposed whatever brought me here gave me these instead?”

 

Elena nodded in a fashion that meant, “go on.” She didn’t remember where she’d picked it up, but it must have been something Imelda had passed down because the man immediately continued; “I should have realized I wasn’t limping?” He hazarded.

 

“How did you not notice earlier?”

 

“I had other things on my mind.” He took a bite of one of the conchitas, and froze. “This is… This is _really good_. Do you make these?” The last he directed at Elena.

 

“Pft. Of course I did.” She tried to squash down the warm feeling growing within her. He was may be her grandfather, but he wasn’t her _Papá_ , and while she was learning new things about him, and about what had happened, that didn’t mean she needed to feel as giddy as a school girl at the compliment.

 

“Now I understand why Vico - Señora Victoria -”

 

“Stop.” Elena said, with a sharp intake of breath.The others were watching her - had been watching their exchange like they’d watch a particularly exciting game of fútbol. “Did Victoria give you permission to call her that?”

 

“Sí, she did.” Héctor was nervous, and standing in the pose that every single one of her children, her grandchildren did, when nervous. It was like looking through a funhouse mirror, and she wondered distantly what else they had inherited from him.

 

“Then I will not disgrace the dead by having you ignore her wishes.” Elena said firmly, her stomach twisting. How had this man gotten so close, not only to her grandson, but to her sister? Victoria had never been an easy person to get to know, but here he was calling her sister ‘Vico’, and saying he had permission. There was always a disconnect, always would be a disconnect between the lands of the living and the dead, but she had never felt it so keenly. “What did Vico say?”

 

“Vic-,” he paused, “-Victoria,” told me that if you hadn’t been so good at shoes, you could have baked for royalty.”

 

Elena knew a compromise when she heard one, even if she didn’t always accept it. She would take this, however. “Thank you.” She said, looking around at the rest of her family, and frowning at the way they were so obviously staring. “Did everyone get what they wanted?” She asked rhetorically, noting the stack of empty plates, and the amount of food still available. There was a rush, Héctor and Miguel escaping early by virtue of the fact that they had decided to share a plate. One very large, very full plate, but one plate nonetheless. They did stop so that Miguel could grab two glasses of agua fresca, but then they were gone, and the rest of the family carefully divvied up food before going to join them.


	8. Are You In Or Out?

“Not much else happened with de la Cruz,” Miguel said, snapping off a piece of _cuernito_ , and handing it to Héctor. They had a system; Miguel would hand Héctor a bite, the man would try it, and if he liked it, he’d take half. The other half would either go to Miguel, or to Rosa or Abel if it was one he wasn’t as fond of as well. The same went with the fruit. While the Riveras tended to stick to locally grown produce, the reality was that “locally grown” had started to encompass a lot more options then it had back when Héctor was still alive. “At least, we talked. He wanted me to stay and play music with him at the Sunrise Spectacular.”

 

“But... Getting you home before sunrise… That was the whole _point_.” Héctor said, strawberry halfway to his mouth.

 

Miguel shrugged, “I told him no, but that’s when “Frida Kahlo” showed up at the party.”

 

“You saw her again?” Carmen asked, perking up.

 

“Well, no.” Miguel said with a grin, “it was actuallyyyyyyyyyyy Papá Héctor! He’d dressed as her to get into the party without a ticket.”

 

“Wait, how many times have you….?” Berto asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

 

Héctor grinned, “It worked.” He pointed out, “And Frida thinks it’s muy cómico.”

 

“You call her _Frida_?” Carmen asked, leaning forward.

 

“Sí! I can introduce you - thought not for a long _long_ time, hopefully!”

 

“But what happened next?” Elena found herself asking, leaning forward.

 

“Ah, that part… Was not so funny.” Héctor paused, looking sideways at Miguel. “I only wanted Miguel to take my photo, and I wanted to ask Ernesto… _Why_. Why had he never told Imelda that I had died, why had he taken my songs, but then Miguel noticed something.”

 

Miguel took over at that, “According to Papá Héctor, they had a toast the night he died, where de la Cruz promised to ‘move heaven and earth’, and I recognized it from a de la Cruz movie that I _very much did not watch in secret_.”

 

Elena didn’t believe him - no one did, not really, but she could see him relax as he realized that he wasn’t going to get in trouble for it; at least, no more then he’d already been in.

 

“...Anyway, in that movie, the drink is poisoned, only de la Cruz’s character notices it, and spits it out before beating up the guy who poisoned it. De la Cruz had it playing on one of his giant projector screens, so I showed Papá Héctor.”

 

Héctor was hunched over, head in hands, and voice muffled. “Suddenly everything made sense. Why Ernesto insisted on a toast, why I got so sick such a short time later, why he had my songs, why…” He looked up, and his face was pained. “...Why Imelda never knew I had died. She thought,” his voiced cracked, “she thought I just _left,_ and I _can’t_ blame her for that.” He sighed, then shook his head. “So I tried to attack Ernesto. It… Did not go well.”

 

Elena watched as the tips of his ears turned red - and how many Rivera’s had gotten his ears? - and suspected that he was downplaying it.

 

“De la Cruz had him dragged away, and then it was only me and him.” Miguel said, leaning against Héctor. “I asked if he could send me home, but he told me that his reputation was very important to him, and asked if I believed that he had murdered Héctor. I said no, but he didn’t believe me. I’m sorry, Papá Héctor - I just wanted to go _home_.” Héctor swung his arm over Miguel’s shoulder, and pulled the boy in close, forgiveness in every line of his body. “I still thought he was my great-great-grandfather, but he had his guards drag me off.”

 

There were assorted gasps as the Riveras heard that, but Miguel continued. “I said that we were family,” His voice trembled. “And he said the Héctor had been his best friend, but he still had to seize his moment.” Héctor’s grip on the boy grew tighter, and expression on his face became thunderous. “His guards took me, and they threw me into a sinkhole.”

 

All the Rivera’s began to talk at once, but one voice rose above the crowd; “ _Hijo de puta!_ ” Héctor said, before flushing. “May I be excused for one moment.” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out the door where he began ranting. “ _¿Qué coño le acabas de decir a él, pequeña perra?..._ ”

 

Unfortunately for him, there was an open window, and the Riveras sat in dumbfounded silence as he continued cursing out Ernesto. Elena couldn’t help but be impressed; while she was generally against foul language, under the circumstances, she couldn’t argue with what he was saying.

 

“ _...Te limpiaré con la precisión que nunca se había visto antes en esta Tierra, marca mis malditas palabras..._ ”

 

“He finds out he was murdered? It ‘didn’t go well’,” Gloria was saying, smirking, “Ernesto tried to hurt Miguel? And we get… That.”

 

“It just means he cares for Miguel,” Franco said, “There's nothing wrong with that.” But he was smirking too, and it was obvious where Gloria had gotten her smile.

 

“... _¿Crees que puedes salirte con la tuya diciéndole esa mierda a Miguel?…_ ”

 

“If there was ever a reason to use this sort of language,” Elena said faux-begrudgingly, “this would be it.”

 

“Wait, Miguel, is this why you’re afraid of heights?” Rosa asked, staring at her _primo._

 

“... _Piensa otra vez, hijo de puta. Estás jodidamente muerto. Maldito idiota_ …”

 

“It’s not heights,” Miguel said, “It’s falling from them, and not exactly? But it didn’t help.”

 

“What else happened?” Enrique said, looking for all intents and purposes like he wanted to join Héctor outside.

 

“ _..._ _Voy a cagar furia sobre ti y te ahogarás en ella. Estás jodidamente muerto, bastardo._ ”

 

“We’ll get to that,” Miguel said, as Héctor stepped back in.

 

“I’m sorry about that. I just needed a moment.”

 

“We could tell,” Gloria said wryly, waving towards the window he’d missed.

 

“Oh Dios mío,” He said, slapping his hand to his face. “Just please don’t repeat any of that?” He pointed at the three youngest in the room, “that means you three especially.” He sat back down by Miguel, only relaxing when Miguel leaned against him again. “I am sorry about that - Miguel, I knew you had ended up in the sink hole with me, but I… I didn’t think about how that had happened, or what he must have said to you.”

 

“You had other things on your mind,” Miguel said, his tone still awestruck from the flurry of language he’d heard.

 

“Still, I should have - and all for his _reputation_.”

 

“Sí,” Miguel said, “but it backfired on him.” He was openly grinning now, “Because I was in the sink hole with you, you sang me Mamá Coco’s song, and I was able to sing it for her the next morning. She remembered you, and showed us your letters.” Miguel was almost bouncing with excitement, “Your letters have the lyrics to a lot of de la Cruz’s songs written in them, and we think we could match the handwriting to his - your - songbook, did you know it’s in a museum? We’re getting the letters tested right now, so we can prove that they’re not forgeries, but the letters might be proof that you wrote all of the songs, not de la Cruz!”

 

Héctor looked stunned. “No manches?”

 

“No manches.” Miguel said.

 

“That’s my boy!” Héctor said, grabbing Miguel’s face, and peppering it with kisses the same way that Coco had done for Elena when she had been a child. He stopped, running his hands through his hair, leaving behind a disorganized mess. “Thank you - all of you.” He said, look around the room. “I never thought - I never expected -” he slumped over, hands in his lap, and shoulders heaving. Elena was certain he was about to cry, but instead when he looked up again, he was laughing. Not a truly happy laughter, something more desperate - and maybe her initial impression of crying wasn’t far off. “Everything he did,” he said, “everything he did, and he ruined it all on his own.”

 

The silence following that statement was broken by Abel; “But what happened next?” He insisted, “Miguel, how did you find out we were related to him, and how did you get home? And when did he sing you Mamá Coco’s song?” He was leaning forward in his seat, eager for answers.

 

Rosa, sitting next to him, lightly slapped his shoulder. “ _Nerd_.” She said, though it was obvious that she wanted to know what happened next, same as the others.

 

“Well…” Miguel started, “I had just landed in the sink hole…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak Spanish, so yes, that is a modified+shortened version of the Navy Seal copy pasta. You're welcome, and I'm sorry. 
> 
> Also, I hope I got the info about pan dulce correct, but my apologies if I didn't. |D


	9. I Won't Say (I'm in Love)

“I had just landed in the sink hole, and I was kind of freaking out,” Miguel continued, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Elena wondered why at first, then dismissed her questions as Miguel mentioned his panic; he was right at the age where he still was willing to cry, but could sometimes get embarrassed about it. “Then I heard a noise from behind me, and it was Papá Héctor. I was kind of freaking out, because the last thing I said was how I didn’t want to be on the ofrenda -” he gave Elena an apologetic look, and Elena stared in surprise, mouth open. Of course Miguel would have been put on the ofrenda!

 

Well, maybe not if he’d left as an adult to become a musician. If he had turned his back on his family. But if he’d died as a child?

 

Except that wasn’t what Héctor had done either, was it? He had been murdered, and no one had known - had even bothered to try and find out.

 

“Wait wait wait wait wait.” Gloria said. Elena couldn’t help but notice the way Héctor’s eyes subtly widened at Gloria’s verbal tic, and she wondered privately if that was something he’d heard from a Rivera before. “So Miguel is thrown down a sink hole, and runs into you, who was _also_ thrown in there. You still thought he was the great-great-grandson of the guy who you had _just_ found out had murdered you, but your first thought was to offer him comfort…?”

 

“Whatever de la Cruz did, Miguel is just a child.” Héctor said, head tilted to the side in confusion as he gave a small shrug. “What else _could_ I do?”

 

“Thank you,” Luisa said, leaning forward, “For taking care of our boy.”

 

“He’s a good kid.” Héctor ruffled Miguel’s hair, “Even before we found out we were related, I was glad to have met him.”    

 

“But how _did_ you find out you were related?” Gloria asked, leaning forward.

 

“Héctor was being forgotten,” Miguel said, shuddering, “And he told me how all he wanted to do was see his Coco again. So I showed him the photo of Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco, and he recognized it. Then he told me how he’d written a song for Mamá Coco, and he sang it for me. That was the original version of _Remember Me_.”

 

“But you were still in the sink hole, right? How did you get out?” Rosa asked, just as drawn into the story as the others.

 

“Oh, Dante led Mamá Imelda and Pepita to us, and fished us out.” Miguel said, leaning forward. “Pepita is amazing, she’s a little scary at first, but she’s _amazing_.”

 

Elena wondered briefly if alebrije Pepita was the same Pepita that had been her grandmother’s beloved pet, or if it was just a name that Mamá Imelda liked. It didn’t really matter, and Elena found herself focusing instead on the conversation between Miguel, Mamá Imelda and Héctor.

 

“Is Mamá Imelda still insisting she can’t forgive you?” Miguel asked, giving Héctor a sly smile.

 

“She invited me to stay at the hacienda,” Héctor said, “But we’re taking it slow.”

 

“She was already calling him ‘the love of her life’ before the night was out,” Miguel stage whispered.

 

“She did,” Héctor said, a love struck grin on his face, and a faint blush hitting his cheeks.

 

“We had just snuck backstage dressed up like Frida Kahlo,” Miguel tried to clarify - though clarify wasn’t perhaps the right term for it, considering the bombshell he’d just casually dropped.

 

“All of you?” Elena interrupted.

 

“Yep! All of us. Even Papá Julio and Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe.” Miguel said, grinning. “All of us. And Frida helped us with the costumes, she was really nice about it.”

 

Elena gaped at him, then tried very hard not to giggle like a young girl about _her Papá_ dressed up as _Frida Kahlo_. And by the faces the other’s were pulling, she could tell that she wasn’t the only one having trouble keeping serious as they tried to picture it.

 

“We were all backstage,” Miguel continued, “And we ran into de la Cruz, and that’s when Mamá Imelda took off one of her boots and hit him across the face, saying ‘That’s for murdering the love of my life!’”

 

The grin on Héctor’s face was getting even sillier, and Elena was hit both with the knowledge that yes, this man had loved her Mamá Imelda, and had loved her dearly and with the reminder that he had died _so_ young - he looked like a love sick boy!

 

“She did say that,” Héctor said, in a dreamy tone. “And she was just as beautiful as ever.”

 

“She said later then she was still angry at him, but she also sang to keep his photo out of de la Cruz’s hands, and when she was done, she jumped into his arms.” Miguel added. “She sang the same song she’d sung for me earlier, and Héctor played the guitar. I wish you all could have seen it.”

 

“But how did you get from hitting de la Cruz to Mamá Imelda singing?” It seemed like Elena wasn’t the only one confused by the shift in topic as Carmen piped up to ask after the sequence of events.

 

“Well, Ernesto is a coward…” Miguel said, continuing the story. It was a interesting story, and Elena found herself on the edge of her seat even as she wished it had happened to anyone other than her Miguelito.

 

...Especially when he got to the point about being thrown over the edge of the theater. There was a stunned silence after he got to that point, and he was intently studying the ground.

 

“ _That’s_ why you’re afraid of heights now?” Rosa asked, looking ill.

 

“Yeah.” Miguel admitted, shamefaced. “Pepita caught me, but I dropped Papá Héctor’s photo.”

 

“It’s okay mijo,” Héctor said, giving Miguel a side hug. “You’re worth a billion photos.”

 

Miguel hugged him back, burying his face into Héctor’s side. “It was almost sunrise, and I thought I had failed. He was never going to get to see Mamá Coco again, he was just going to fade away. That’s why it was so important that I get to Mamá Coco, I had to try and make her remember, so he could see her again.”

 

“And you did,” Héctor said, rubbing circles on Miguel’s back in a soothing motion. “You did, and I’m still here. You did _good_.”  

 

“I guess so,” Miguel said, “But I was really worried. I was _this_ close to looking up curses at the library to see if I could visit, and see if I’d made it in time.” It might have been a joke, except the sincerity lacing his tone made it obvious it very much wasn’t.

 

“Well, let’s _not_ do that.”

 

“I won’t. Anyway, that’s what happened,” Miguel said, giving a watery smile to the others. “Any questions?”

 

“Yes.” Came the answer from everyone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the short reply. [I’ve had some stuff come up](http://loracarol.tumblr.com/post/177035266122/hey-sorry-to-be-that-person-but-i-just-got). :/  (Link goes to my blog post explaining it in more detail; I've removed the link to my ko-fi because I've heard that might be problematic and better safe then sorry!)


	10. A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> questions, answers, and mild breakdowns

Questions began to fly through the air thick and fast, as everyone tried to be the first to get their question answered. It wasn’t quite working, though, as Héctor was just staring at them, baffled, trying to keep track of who was asking what.

 

“Enough!” Elena said, bringing the chorus to a close. “One at a _time_.” Her family quieted down, and she took advantage of the lull to ask her question. “First thing’s first,” she said, leaning forward in her seat. “How’s Mamá doing?”

 

Héctor’s expression cleared, and he smiled as he answered. “Coco is doing well. She let me give her the biggest hug, and she says if she ever runs into de la Cruz, she’s going to follow in Imelda’s footsteps with her own shoes. Her favorite snack is oranges, she says Miguel used to peel them for her when she couldn’t do it herself anymore. And she still wears her hair in braids! She misses all of you, of course, but she’s also happy to see the rest of her family again.” He continued to gush over his daughter, and Elena was hit by the knowledge that yes, this man really did love her Mamá. “Coco and Julio dance together almost every night - I’ve never seen the man so happy! And I think Victoria is also happier, though of course she still misses the rest of you.”

 

“Mamá Coco dances?” Berto asked, startled. Elena was startled too - her Mamá, had been in a wheelchair for so long, it was hard to imagine anything else.

 

“She dances so beautifully. She takes after Imelda in that regard.” Héctor said, gazing into the distance. “Ah, sorry, what was the next question?”

 

“How is Victoria?” Elena asked. She felt a twinge of guilt at taking two questions in a row, but this was her Mamá and her sister. She wanted to ask after all of them, really, but those were the two she _needed_ to hear about first; her Mamá because she had died so recently, and her sister who had died so young.

 

“Victoria is very kind.” Héctor said promptly, “She’s been introducing me to some of her favorite authors, and we take turns reading chapters out loud to each other. We were - we are on one now about a murder on a train. There’s another one she wants us to read, about a murder on an island, but I guess the first death is poison, so she thinks we should wait a little before we read that one. I see so much of Imelda in her, but Imelda says she sees a lot of _me_. I wish I’d had a chance to see you both grow up...” His voice trailed off until it stopped, and his expression fell. There was silence for a moment, and he shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. She wants to learn how to play an instrument, but she wasn’t sure which one, so I took her to meet some of Frida’s orchestra, and she liked the cello.”  He grinned, “Imelda is willing to give her time off from the shop if she can find a teacher, but so far none of caught her eye. I told her she might have to settle for me and a guitar if she couldn’t find anyone, but I guess she’s really picky about teachers?”

 

“Maybe she just _wants_ you to teach her guitar,” Miguel said, jostling Héctor. Héctor’s smile turned self-deprecating.

 

“Ah, don’t be ridiculous mijo, she probably just has high standards.” Héctor replied, ruffling Miguel’s hair.

 

“I don’t know,” Elena said, “Has she actually tried taking a lesson with any of them? Or just met them?”

 

“Well, she’s just met them, but she hasn’t liked any of them.”

 

“Well, there you go. She wants you to teach her how to play guitar.” Elena said. “You didn’t get a chance to watch us grow up, so to clear something up - she’s good at compartmentalizing someone’s personality from their actions. If she _actually_ wanted to learn cello, she’d take some practice classes with them, and see what their teaching style was like.”

 

Héctor gaped at her before burying his head in his hands. While she couldn’t see his face, Elena could see the tips of his ears turning red. They had _definitely_ inherited those ears from him, _dios mio_.

 

“Do you really think so?” He said, voice muffled.

 

“Yes.”

 

“...I’m an idiot.” He said, still hiding. “I need to apologize to her… Well, as soon as I see her.”

 

“At least you’re getting to spend time with them?” Miguel said, “Mamá Imelda let you move into the Rivera hacienda, are you two singing together? What happened to de la Cruz? Did he get arrested?”

 

“One question at a time,” Héctor said, giving Miguel a joking shove. He was still red, but he was sitting up again, his face no longer hidden. “Yes, I’m getting to spend more time with them, now that I’ve moved in.” He looked around, as if looking for more questions, but when Elena motioned for him to continue, he did. “I have my own room for now, but Imelda and I have been spending more time together.” His face took on the slightly dopey countenance that Elena was starting to suspect was his default expression when it came to talking about Imelda. “Music is allowed in the house, and we sing together sometimes, but usually privately. Imelda isn’t comfortable doing much in public, and she might not ever be. Apparently when we were all distracted, Pepita tossed de la Cruz under a bell, and he stayed there for a while. The police have him in custody now, though. I’m not sure where.” He shrugged. “They say I’ll have to face him eventually, if I want justice, but for now they’re working through the red tape.”    

 

“Do you think this,” Enrique was gesturing at Héctor, “Might be his fault? For you being here?”

 

Héctor paused. “...I don’t know, but I don’t think so?” He said slowly, tapping his fingers on his legs to an internal rhythm. “I was thinking about it while I was in the shower.” He paused, “It’s a nice shower, thank you.” That he said to Elena, and the smile on his face was sincere. “If this was something _he_ did, or had a part in, it should be a bad thing, right? Or a curse?” He spread his hands out wide, “How is this a _curse_?”

 

“And you didn’t notice anything unusual before you ended up here?” Gloria said, leaning forward in her chair.  

 

Héctor shook his head. “I was just walking on the street and then the street wasn’t, and I was here.” He confirmed. “And now I get to…” He paused, and swallowed, “Now I get to meet my _familia_ , to see Miguel again, to hold baby Coco. I know I shouldn’t be here, I should be home, with Imelda, with my Coco, with the rest of this family, but… If this was meant as a curse, then whoever did it must be very bad at their job.”

 

“We’ll figure this out,” Rosa said, leaning into Héctor, and even Abel was giving Héctor some manly pats on the back. They had taken to him, but maybe it was just that they hadn’t had as long as the others to learn to hate him.

 

The silence was thick and heavy, and then Enrique decided to break it. “We know why you didn’t come back, but I want - I _need_ \- to know. Why did you ever leave in the first place?”

 

“Ah.” Héctor looked down for just a moment, as his hands becoming unnaturally still. “Imelda believed I was going off to sing for the world. I thought she would have told you.”

 

“She did,” Enrique said, “At least, according to Mamá’s stories from her. But I want to hear from you.”

 

Héctor shrunk into himself. “There isn’t much to say. I was young and stupid, and I couldn’t - still can’t - make a pair of shoes worth a damn. I would have had to _pay_ people to take them.” For a moment he stopped, and Elena wondered if that was it, if that was all, but then - like a torrent; “I wasn’t strong enough for field work, or for construction, and we had a child. I thought maybe-” His voice hitched. “I was good at music. It was the only thing I was good at, and I thought. There are only so many weddings a small town can have without new people moving in, only so many quince’s, so many baptisms.” He paused, crestfallen, and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Imelda was right. I wanted to play for the world.” He shrugged. “What else is there to say.”

 

What else was there indeed. Elena struggled to find words, to find the _right_ words. She had always tied “playing for the world” with “abandoning family”, how was she to deal with the idea that he had gone to play for the world to _provide_ for his family? Even just in her childhood, Santa Cecilia had been small. It was expanding, but… She wanted to ask him more questions. She wanted to know _more_ , but she could wait. Even if he was older then her, he still looked so young, and the look of distress on his face was hitting her down to the core.

 

“Someone ask a question that will change the subject, or I will.” She said, Héctor sending her a small, grateful smile. There was silence, as everyone tried to take in what he had been saying, and so she decided to ask something frivolous. “Fine then. Héctor, Mamá Imelda’s alebrije, you said it’s name was Pepita. Do you know if that’s the same Pepita that she had as a pet, or…?

 

Héctor brightened up, “Yes. Just like Dante, I guess Pepita was her pet first.”

 

“You also said earlier the Rivera was Imelda’s name.” Elena stated, one eyebrow raised.

 

Héctor nodded, and while he still looked rattled, he no longer looked as shaken. “Ernesto and I - I grew up in the orphanage here, and married Imelda with the name “Espósito”. Imelda insisted I take her name.” It made sense to Elena, but Héctor wasn’t done. “Some people complained, but what was the point of listening to them? I was married to Imelda, not them.”

 

“And I’m guessing Mamá Imelda didn’t react to fondly to anyone who questioned it.” Elena said, nodding her head.

 

“No, she really didn’t.” Héctor agreed. Elena was about to ask another question when a snippet of a song came from Abel’s pocket, and he jumped nervously, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket.

 

“Uh… Did we still want to go to the movie?” Abel asked, turning off the alarm, “Because that was the reminder I set.”

 

“Movie?” Héctor asked, head tilted.

 

“Yeah,” Miguel said, “We had plans to go see a movie in the city. But you’re here now, and we’re not going to just _leave_ you.”

 

“What movie were you going to go see?” Héctor asked, still curious.

 

“It’s this norteamericano film, it’s not important.” Miguel insisted, “It’s just some musical that Mamá got recommended.”

 

“Did you want to go see it?” Héctor pushed.

 

“I mean, maybe eventually.” Miguel acknowledged, rocking forward in his seat, “But you’re _here_. You’re more important then some silly movie.”   

 

Héctor turned on the couch so he was facing Miguel, “Miguel, hey, you can go see the movie, I don’t mind.”

 

“But you’re family, and nothing is more important than family.” Miguel insisted, tension in every line of his body.

 

“Oh Miguel,” Héctor said, reaching out, and pulling Miguel into a hug. Then he put his hands on Miguel’s shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “When you agreed to help me get my photo back, I was so grateful to you, but I also put you in an impossible scenario, and I never should have. You should never have had to make the choice between your living happiness and mine. I’ve already lived my life. It was cut short, but I had a chance.” He paused, embarrassed. “You don’t have to miss out on this if you don’t want to, just because I’m here. Miguel, I _want_ you to be happy, whatever that means.” He shot Elena a look, then added, “As long as it’s legal.”    

 

Miguel laughed, but it was quiet, “I want to go see it,” He admitted. “Abel showed me the movie trailer on his phone, and I got to listen to some of the songs. It looks really cool. Do you want to go see the movie with us?”

 

“I think I’m good on the movie front for a while.” Héctor admitted. “The lawyers are having me watch some of _his_ movies so that we can see if there’s anything else he lifted.” He shuddered, “Thank you but, no.” He shuddered, though it was obvious he was playing it up for comedic effect. “I have an idea though,” Héctor said, “Go see the movie, and if I’m still here in the morning, show me how to listen to the songs, and pick… Two? That made you feel different emotions, and we can go over how the songs were written to do that, okay?”

 

“A guitar lesson?” Miguel asked, throwing his arms around Héctor, “I can’t wait!”

 

Elena knew why Miguel was Héctor’s favorite, but that still didn’t make it easier for her to see how Abel and Rosa reacted to Héctor’s promise. She was about to say something, when Héctor beat her to it.

 

“I’d like to get to know you two a little bit better,” Héctor admitted, directing his attention to Abel and Rosa, “If you’re interested? But I don’t know what you like?”

 

“How much do you know about the violin?” Rosa asked, chin in hand.

 

“I know a little bit. Not a lot about the actual notes, but how to care for one, posture, how to keep your hands from hurting.” Héctor said, slowly. “And things have probably changed. I can play the violin a little bit, but I wouldn’t say I _play the violin_. I used to help as background music in the orchestra, I was never higher than that.”

 

“What about the accordion?” Abel asked. To most, he sounded like a normal teenage boy, but to Elena, she could hear the concern in his voice. She knew that he struggled, feeling like the accordion wasn’t as “fancy” an instrument as the guitar Miguel played, or the violin Rosa was learning.

 

“Oh, I never could play the accordion,” Héctor said with a wry grin, and gesturing to himself. “It takes a lot of strength to play one of those, and I never quite got the hang of it. You must be very talented to have picked it up!”   

 

Abel started, “You think so?” He asked, incredulous.

 

“I think so.” Héctor said, “Thought it does mean I don’t know as much about it as the violin or the guitar, and I am sorry about that.”

 

Abel shrugged loosely, though by the faint red on his cheeks, and the smile on his face, Elena was certain that he was pleased. “That’s okay. Do you think you could help me learn how to read music?”

 

Héctor’s smile grew wider. “Of course! Do you have the music here, so I can take a look while you’re at the movie?”

 

“I’ll be right back with it,” Abel said, before getting up, and heading towards his room.  

 

“We can still go, right?” Miguel asked, his joy taking a pause as he looked over at the adults. “I mean, you said we can go, we can still go, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” Enrique said. While his tone was joking, there was an undertone of seriousness as he continued, “After the story we heard, I don’t think we want to let you out of our sight.”

 

“Why don’t you join them?” Carmen said, “I can watch Coco for you. After all the times you watched our kids, it’s the least I could do.”

 

Enrique gave Luisa a questioning look, and she nodded. “It’s been a while since we went out,” She pointed out, though with a smile to show she wasn’t upset by it. “It might be nice to just have a night together.”

 

“You have to cherish her,” Héctor said, feigned seriousness on his face. “How else will she know you love her if you don’t cherish her? She’s not just the mother of your child- children, she’s your wife, and she needs to know that.”

 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Luisa asked, turning, challenging him.

 

“Ah, well, we really only had the twins,” Héctor admitted, “And they were... _Young_... So we had to watch Coco ourselves, most of the time, But we would take some time to sit out under the stars, or buy a special pan dulce when we could afford it.” His voice was wistful, and he had to shake himself out of the memories.

 

“Well. Papá Héctor’s orders,” Enrique said, though it was obvious from his tone that he wasn’t yet one hundred percent comfortable with the term. It didn't seem to matter, though, from the way that Héctor was beaming.

 

Plans finalized, the family began to get up, and separate out into those going to the movie, and those staying home. In the end, it shook out that only Elena, Carmen, Gloria and Héctor were staying. “Héctor,” Gloria had said, “Would it be okay with you if I did some research, and tried to see if I can find… You? Based on what you told us earlier?”

 

“N-No, not at all,” Héctor had said, though it was obvious that it made him a little queasy to think about, and with that permission, she’d gone back to the computer room to start her search.

 

As everyone else started to get ready to go, Franco went up to Elena, and gave her a kiss. “Thank you, Elena.” He said, “For your permission.”

 

“You’re a grown man, Franco. You don’t need my permission.”

 

“Your blessing, then.” Franco said. “I swore off music as a grown man when I married you, and if you asked, I’d stay away. I promised you when I married you that I would marry all of you, no matter what.”

 

“Thank you,” Elena said, “But you’ve been without music long enough. I want you to go and to enjoy yourself.”

 

“Te amo,” Franco said with a smile, and another kiss, and he followed the rest of the family out the door, leaving only Elena, Carmen and Héctor.

 

It was going to be an interesting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who suggested questions! I have a couple saved for later chapters because I think they'll fit there better. :D I didn't skip them though!! 
> 
> Miguel & fam are watching Moana. They had to set an alarm bc the theater is in the larger city, and it's a drive. I mostly picked Moana bc (1) I have no idea what child-friendly musicals were playing in or around Oaxaca in 2017 when Coco first came out and (2) the idea of the fam watching it, given their own beliefs around the dead/afterlife, IDK, I think it would be neat? Once they all stop sobbing over Grandma Tala, of course. 
> 
> According to the wiki, "Espósito" is a Spanish variation on the Italian term "Esposito", which was traditionally a last name given to foundlings/abandoned children, or even more crudely, bastard children. I figured it would work for Héctor in this case, because if I understand Spanish/Mexican naming traditions correctly (and I'm not sure I do tbh), he technically should have two last names, a maternal and a paternal, as should Coco? But Coco only is "Rivera", so I decided that Héctor is also only "Rivera".


	11. Healing Incantation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Am I cheating with that chapter title? Yes. 
> 
> Do I care? Also yes.

It was a surprisingly boring night. Beyond asking for something to take notes on, Héctor had been quiet on the seat, reading over Abel’s music and taking notes. Occasionally, he’d stop, and scribble something down on the back for reasons Elena wasn’t quite sure of. The only noise he made was the scribbling of his pen on paper, which was… _Fine_. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting - no, that was a lie. She was expecting something more like when Miguel worked on his music, rhythms tapped on the tabletop, the humming of some song she didn’t know, just _something_. After all, now that music was no longer banned, it seemed like Miguel never stopped making it, and Miguel was really her only frame of reference for being a musician.

 

Elena had a book out, but she couldn’t help but get distracted by his work. While Miguel was unfocused; still learning, and still a child, Héctor was _nothing_ but focus, and he treated Abel’s request with a seriousness that Elena hadn’t honestly been expecting. The only time he looked up was when Carmen rejoined them in the room, having just checked on Coco. She brought with her the baby monitor and her knitting, and soon the sound of her needles was adding to the quiet household “music” playing in the room.

 

Finally Héctor stopped, and he was stretching his hand, staring at it with no small amount of confusion. He turned it this way and that, studying the limb with an intensity that Elena didn’t completely understand. “I still have calluses,” He muttered quietly, and it was obvious he was speaking to himself.

 

“Calluses?” Carmen asked, putting her work down.

 

Héctor looked like he was panicking for a brief moment, as though he’d forgotten the others were still there. “I got them from playing guitar for so long.” He grinned, “Miguel will probably end up with some too, and so will Rosa. It comes with playing a stringed instrument.”

 

“Ah,” Carmen replied. She paused, then said, “I’m sorry, I have to ask. Were you telling the truth to Abel? About the accordion?”

 

“Ehhhh, not _completely_ ,” Héctor said, giving Elena a quick look, “I had to learn how to play it for a tour guide job I had back - back _there_. But I only had the job a couple of weeks before I quit, and I never quite got the hang of it. It’s not an _easy_ instrument.”  

 

Carmen nodded, understanding. “He won’t say anything, but he was worried,” She told Héctor, “Since it’s not a string instrument like Miguel or Rosa play.”

 

There was a beat of silence as Héctor frowned. “Is it because anything they _say_ , or -”

 

“No, they’re good kids.” Carmen said with a soft smile. “I know that Miguel is just happy my children play music, and he’s been trying to write them each their own song.”

 

“ _Good_.” Héctor said with an answering smile of his own. “I played the guitar because that was what I was good at, and it… It made me happy. They should play instruments that make them happy, and not worry about the rest of it.”

 

“And what if they decide not to play music, what then?” Elena asked, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Then they decide not to.” Héctor said, tensing up, “It’s not like they _have_ to play. Sorry.” He added the apology as an afterthought, not that Elena could see any reason for it.

 

“What are you apologizing for now?” She asked, genuinely confused.

 

Héctor’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he responded. “Eh, this and that,” He said, tilting his hand back and forth. “You’re so much like Imelda, it’s force of habit.”

 

It wasn’t just that. There was something else about it, something Elena couldn’t quite put her finger on. The way he reacted to her, his apologies… It was all so _unnecessary_. She was about to question him further when they heard a cry come over the baby monitor, and Héctor jumped.

 

“What _is_ that?” He asked, pointing at the baby monitor, brow furrowed.

 

“It’s a baby monitor, it let’s us hear how Coco is doing.” Carmen said, “It sounds like she just woke up.” While she didn’t frown, not exactly, her lips were pursed, as she put away her work. “She was fed right before Luisa left, and I just changed her diaper.”

 

“I can check on her, if you want.” Héctor said with a wry grin, “I haven’t been a Papá in _years_ , but I used to be good at getting my-” His voice hitched - “At getting my Coco to sleep.”

 

“Once a Papá always a Papá,” Carmen said, “Do you know where her room is?”

 

Héctor stood up, “Miguel gave me a short tour after I cleaned up. Down the hallway?” Even as he was speaking to Carmen, he kept looking over at Elena, as though asking her permission.  

 

“Oh, go on then,” Elena said, making a shooing motion. “Anything to help her sleep.”

 

“Let us know if you need anything!” Carmen said cheerfully, picking her knitting back up.

 

Elena picked her book back up, and tried to focus, but it was hard with the knowledge that Héctor was in the house. Through the baby monitor, she could hear him start to speak to Coco, and  she tensed, wondering if she should turn it off, if she should give them privacy. She decided not to, in case there was an emergency. What type, she couldn’t say, but if there was one thing she had learned in her long life, it was that you always had to be prepared for an emergency.

 

“ _Hola little princessa,_ ” Héctor was saying over the monitor. She could hear the rustling of fabric as Coco was picked up out of bed. “ _You should be resting_.” Coco’s sobs were slowing down, and Elena wondered what Héctor was doing. “ _Ah, shh shh mí corazón._ ” Was he rocking her back and forth? “ _I used to sing this lullaby to my Coco. Would you like to hear it?_ ” His voice was calm, soothing, and she wondered if this was how he’d been as a father. How would he have been as a grandfather? Would he have sung to them quietly in their rooms? Would he have been there for their nightmares? For their first shoes? For their quinces, for her Mamá’s wedding? For her own wedding?

 

She wished she had the courage to go check on them. It was so silly, but she wanted to know if he was he sitting in the chair that she had used, that Luisa now used? Or was he dancing with her, the way Miguel did, with music back in their lives? She shook herself out of her thoughts, and realized she’d missed the beginning of the song. It shouldn’t have bothered her, it was just _music_ , but it did. “ _...Remember me, don’t let it make you cry…_ _For even if I'm far away..._ _I hold - I hold you - I- I - in my..._ ” The singing over the monitor stopped, and instead it sounded like Héctor was - was he _crying_?

 

“Mamá Elena, are you okay?” Carmen was asking her with some concern, and Elena was surprised to find she was crying herself. She wasn’t _weeping_ , and she _definitely_ wasn’t crying over _that man_.

 

She was only crying over what could have been.

 

“I’m tired,” Elena said instead, sitting up slowly. “Can you check on him?” She waved her hand towards the baby monitor, “I think I’m going to bed early.”

 

“Of course Mamá Elena,” Carmen said, knitting put away. “Of course.”

 

Elena walked to her room. It felt so empty in there, without Franco to join her. But he’d be home soon, she just needed to wait. He always came home. And she needed her rest. It had been a long day; all she needed was a good night’s sleep, and everything would be clearer in the morning.

 

* * *

 

She woke up to the feel of arms around her, and took a moment to enjoy Franco’s company. She always woke up early, she had since she was a child. Before Mamá Imelda had passed away, the mornings were their special time. Elena would get dressed and sneak out of the room as quietly as possible, just to watch Mamá Imelda work. She had always wondered what kind of man would leave her Mamá Imelda; her abuelita was the _best_. He must have been awful, a real _jerk_...

 

She had never grown out of the habit of getting up early; she liked to sit outside with her morning coffee and enjoy the calmness of a world still half asleep, so she kissed Franco’s forehead, and slipped out of his embrace. He was used to it, he knew her quirks as intimately as she knew his, and he knew that she didn’t mind if he slept in. Dressed, Elena went to the kitchen, where a pot of coffee would be waiting for her. While she wasn’t as fond of electronics as some of the rest of her family, the coffee machine that had coffee timed for right when she woke up was a marvelous little invention.

 

She had just filled her mug and stepped outside when she notice a shadow in the ofrenda room, and almost had a heart attack. As she walked over to the ofranda room, she realized it was Héctor, but that didn’t calm her down. How would he react? After so many years left off, he wouldn’t be taking revenge, would he? Her eyes were drawn to the ofrenda itself, and she gasped when she realized that the picture from the top as missing. She turned, ready to use her chancla.

 

All her concerns, all her fears… None of it was necessary. Héctor had the photo, true, but none of her fears were founded. He had been sitting, just staring at the photo, until she came in. At her entrance, he jumped up, nervous grin on his face. He was wearing a different shirt, this one said [“what part of” then it had a bunch scribbles before it followed up with “don’t you understand”](https://images.sunfrogshirts.com/2017/04/25/33415-1493127314760-Gildan-Men-Black-_w92_-front.jpg)? She had to assume it was also something Abel picked out. He was clutching the photo to his chest as he stood tense, and waiting, and Elena finally recognized what it was about Héctor that had been bothering her.

 

...He was _afraid_ of her.

 

But… Why?

 

“It’s okay,” She said, “I’m not -” She stopped. The night before, he’d said she reminded him of Mamá Imelda. Mamá Imelda who’d torn his face from the photo. Mamá Imelda who refused to pass down his stories. Mamá Imelda who had tried to erase him from the family, and had almost succeeded. Was he afraid that she would follow in her grandmother’s footsteps? That if he upset her at all, he was going to be taken back off the ofrenda?

 

What could she say that would convince him he was on the ofrenda for good? Especially after so many years off of it?

 

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Héctor said slowly. “I woke up, and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

 

“This house belongs to your family,” Elena replied, “You can do what you want.”

 

Héctor shrugged, but he still looked lost.

 

Elena took a sip of her coffee, then said, “Héctor, even _if_ I took your photo down, Miguel made copies. You’d still be able to cross the bridge. But I’m not planning on taking it down.”

 

Héctor nodded, but it was obvious that he wasn’t sure if he believed her. “Sorry,”  

 

Elena hated it. “Put the photo back,” Elena sighed. “If you’re awake, we should get some food in you.”

 

Héctor nodded, putting the photo back, and following Elena back into the kitchen. “Do you drink coffee?” She asked. At his nod, she poured him a mug. His ‘thank you’ was quiet, and he still watched her warily. She didn’t want to get a big meal started, not until more people were awake, so the food wouldn’t get cold. Instead she pulled out some leftover pan dulce, and prepared fruit. They _really_ had prepped too much the day before.

 

The silence stretched out as Elena tried to figure out what to say, and Héctor ate silently. “What’s your favorite food?” She finally asked, watching him.

 

“Eh?” Héctor asked, swallowing a bite.  

 

“I asked you what your favorite food is?” Elena repeated.

 

“Why?”

 

“I want to know what to put on the ofrenda for you next year,” Elena said.

 

“Oh.” Héctor said, eyes widening in shock. “ _Oh_.” It took him a moment to answer, as he fiddled with a concha. “I always used to like chapulines,” He admitted.

 

“No manches.” Elena said, staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Sí?” Héctor said, brow furrowing.

 

“It’s a long story, Franco tells it better. I’ll ask him to at breakfast.” Elena said, taking another sip of her coffee.

 

“You’re going to put chapulines on the ofrenda next year. For me.” Héctor repeated a small smile growing on his face.

 

“Well, not _just_ chapulines. Some pan de muerto, of course, and some new clothes. I take it you’re a fan of _those_ shirts?

 

“I found a bag hanging from my doorknob when I woke up, and there was some more clothing.” Héctor grinned, plucking at his shirt. “Abel? He has good taste.”   

 

“Well, we’ll let Abel pick out some clothes for the ofrenda,” Elena said, “And some more shoes, of course, and I know Miguel is going to write you a letter. No tequila.”

 

“Thank you,” Héctor said, his smile dropping briefly. “Thank you,” He said again, quieter. “You don’t have to go to all the trouble.”

 

“You weren’t on our ofrenda for over ninety years.” Elena said, pausing briefly as she tried to figure out exactly how long he he’d been dead. “Ninety-six years,” she said, correcting herself. She frowned. “Of course we’re going to make up for it.”

 

Héctor looked like he was about to say something else, but he closed his mouth as Berto joined them in the kitchen. All of her children tended to wake up early, but Berto tended to wake up the earliest. “Morning Mamá, Héctor,” He said with a yawn,and a stretch.

 

“Morning Bertito,” Elena said, standing up. She patted Héctor’s shoulder as she walked into the kitchen. If Berto was up, then the others would be following shortly. It was time to start breakfast.  

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Héctor asked, standing up, and while he still looked nervous, some of the tension in his body was gone.

 

Elena cross her arms, and appraised him. “Can I trust you with a knife?” She asked.

 

“Yes?”

 

“That’s more than we can say about half this family,” Berto said, shrugging. “Give us shoes, and we can do anything, but the moment we try and cut vegetables.” He shuddered for effect.

 

“I can chop vegetables,” Héctor said, tapping out a beat against his leg. “Just let me know what you want.”

 

“I will,” Elena said, “And while you’re cutting, I want you to explain your shirt to me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for what Carmen and Héctor talk about, I think there's going to be a sequel "omake" that has all the convos between Héctor & his fam that Elena doesn't end up seeing. 
> 
> As always, concrit is always welcome. :)


End file.
